


Just Another One

by ClaraxBarton



Series: Kinktober2019 [11]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: AmeriHawk, Endearments, Established Relationship, Kinktober, M/M, Modern!Clint, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Sex Work, Sex Worker Clint, Sounding, cap!steve - Freeform, good bro natasha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-09 10:28:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20993312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/pseuds/ClaraxBarton
Summary: Fury wants Steve to get back into the world.Natasha wants Steve to start dating.Steve honestly just wants to get laid.





	Just Another One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hawksonfire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawksonfire/gifts).

> For Arson - and a big GDI!!! headed your way because this is only a SMALL PIECE of the GIANT FIC I NEED TO NOW WRITE.  
See end notes for more. You brilliant, evil person.
> 
> For the 'sounding' Kinktober prompt.

** _Got evernything rdy fr 2nite _ **

** _Make sure u shower_ **

** _Prob go ahead and get off a few times_ **

** _See u @8_ **

It was hard to keep a straight face and maintain his disinterest in the world around him as Steve looked at the incoming flow of text messages. 

His phone was silenced and he held it under the table, out of sight from the rest of his team while Sitwell continued to drone on about intelligence acquisition reports from the last six months.

Only Natasha, seated across the table from Steve and chewing bubble gum as obnoxiously as it was humanly possible to do, seemed to realize or care that Steve’s attention wasn’t entirely focused on the too-long briefing.

Steve ran his thumbs over the edges of the phone case, trying to decide how best to respond to the messages.

Eventually, he settled for simplicity.

**Sounds good. See you then.**

He had no doubt that he would get teased about the formality later - as much as Steve made an effort to… if not fit into modern society, at least refrain from sticking out too much, he drew the line at learning how to butcher words into net-speak or text-speak or  _ whatever _ people called it.

“Any questions?” Sitwell asked from the front of the room, and it was like someone had just shouted  _ school’s out! _ because everyone around the table sagged in relief.

Steve met Rumlow’s eyes across the table, and they exchanged a brief nod of agreement.

No one would be asking Sitwell any questions - that’s what email was for. There was absolutely no need for any of them to suffer through Sitwell’s brand of condescending policy-wonk jargon for any longer than they already had.

“Let’s move out, Strike Team,” Rumlow announced, and started to stand. “We’ve got reports to file.”

That almost broke Steve’s composure - Rumlow didn’t file  _ any _ reports until someone like Sitwell asked him to do it at least four times, and even then, he made his second-in-command, Rollins, do it.

But Sitwell stood aside as the men and women gathered around started to file out of the room.

He cast hopeful eyes towards Steve and Natasha as they stood and, the last of the crowd, headed for the door.

Sitwell opened his mouth, as though to speak, but Natasha arched an eyebrow at Steve and spoke before he could.

“So, hot date tonight?” she asked, and strode past Sitwell without breaking stride.

Steve followed her, leaving Sitwell behind, alone and pouting.

“Nope,” he informed her, not entirely lying.

Her eyebrow remained arched, and her gaze flicked down to his right pocket, where he kept his phone tucked away.

“Really? That’s too bad,” she all but purred. “You’ve been in DC for almost six months, Steve. You need to get out there. Hey, I have a friend you might like. She works for the DOD and-”

“No, thanks,” Steve interrupted her, and offered an apologetic smile. “I don’t… I’m not- I’m okay,” he settled on.

Natasha’s clear gaze and frank expression made it very clear what she thought of his definition of ‘fine’.

So Steve did the only thing he could think of.

“Well, what about you, huh? Dating anyone?”

She snorted a laugh, chewed her gum until she could work up a huge blue bubble and then popped it with her own tongue.

“I don’t date, Steve.” She said it so coldly and firmly that even Steve didn’t want to push against the words.

They walked onto an open elevator car, and Natasha hit the button for the R&D floor before looking at Steve expectantly.

Steve looked at his phone again.

It was going on five now, so he had enough time to head back to his apartment, shower thoroughly… jerk off a few times and shower even more thoroughly, maybe grab something to eat, and then navigate DC traffic.

He could  _ maybe _ squeeze in going over some reports, but, after languishing in Sitwell’s briefing, Steve didn’t think he needed any more self-flagellation tonight.

He pressed the button for the garage.

Natasha looked smug, but didn’t say anything about it.

The ride was brief and silent, and when Steve got off, he looked back at Natasha and she waggled her hand in a teasing wave.

“Have fun and be safe,” she said, and blew another bubble.

The elevator doors closed before Steve could deliver a comeback, but that was probably just as well.

-o-

He was early, because he usually was, but Steve knocked on the hotel room door at 7:45 and, after only a moment, it swung open.

“Hey, sweetheart,” came the familiar greeting delivered in the familiar midwestern drawl from the very familiar man standing in front of Steve.

Clint Barton wasn’t what Steve had really been expecting when he snuck into Sitwell’s office one night and used his computer to research DC escort services.

Then again, Steve’s experience with sex workers was limited to a lifetime ago - wartime prostitution and New York City in the 1930s and early 1940s were very,  _ very _ different than high-end sex workers in Washington DC in the twenty-first century.

And as much as his expectations hadn’t been… met, Steve couldn’t say he was at all, even the tiniest bit, disappointed. 

Clint was tall - just the slightest bit taller than Steve - and lean, with broad shoulders that tapered down to a narrow waist and long legs that went on for days. His pale, blond hair was eternally mussed, and his light blue eyes seemed to always be sparkling with humor. Even his lips had a permanent upward tilt to them, and his lightly-tanned skin was covered in freckles.

“Hey,” Steve smiled back at Clint and stepped into the room.

Clint locked the door and gave Steve a proper once-over.

“Going or coming from the Bingo game?” Clint asked, running his fingers over Steve’s plaid button-up and teasingly yanking it up from where it was neatly tucked into his khakis.

Steve glared at him, but Clint’s smirk remained in place.

“Didn’t realize I paid to get sassed,” he said.

“You sure don’t,” Clint agreed. “You get that free of charge,” he added with a wink, and Steve snorted, amused despite himself.

“So,” Clint gestured towards the large bed that dominated the hotel room. The comforter was already pulled back, exposing sheets and a very large, very plush-looking towel spread out below the mound of pillows by the headboard.

There was nothing seedy about the hotel - never had been. 

The very first time they had met, at this very hotel - albeit in the bar downstairs - Steve had been shocked. He had been expecting something… altogether dirtier. Clint had just smirked, sipped on his own Old Fashioned, and then stolen the cherry from Steve’s whiskey sour and eaten it in the most lascivious way possible. Then Clint had passed over an NDA, a checklist of services he was willing to provide and the instructions for Steve to pay him for ‘personal training’.

“Still feeling up to playing with something new tonight?” Clint asked when Steve sat down on the foot of the bed and folded comforter.

Clint picked up a black leather case and opened it, revealing a set of stainless steel implements. They were all slim and straight, except for having a slight curved angle at one end, and there was slight variations in size with each one.

Steve swallowed hard.

This hadn’t, actually, been one of the things they had initially agreed on as being ‘on the table’. But, well, Steve watched pornography, and he’d been intrigued, and Clint had shrugged and admitted to having enough experience to feel comfortable with it if that was what Steve wanted to try.

So here they were.

Steve reached out to touch one, but Clint batted his hand away.

“Don’t,” he cautioned. “I finished sterilizing them last night. Didn’t arrive in the mail until Tuesday and all, but - The point is, don’t contaminate them with your crime-fighting germs.”

Steve gave Clint a look.

Clint just offered up his lopsided smirk in response.

“You know I can’t catch anything.”

“And  _ you _ know I practice safe sex, no matter what. And I’m sure as hell not gonna be the guy who gives Captain America his first UTI.”

“You won’t be,” Steve assured him. Clint started to speak, but Steve got there first. “Had one back in 1931 when I was in the hospital.”

Clint snorted.

“Oh, sure, so I’ll just give you your first one in  _ this century _ . I don’t think so, buddy. C’mon, get naked and let me set this up for us.”

Steve raised his eyebrows.

“You’re being very clinical about all of this.”

Clint shrugged. He wasn’t even undressed - and made no move to do so. He was wearing a tight purple t-shirt that showed off the impressive muscles of his biceps and jeans that looked very nearly threadbare. He was, at least, barefoot.

“Told you this was getting into the medical fetish territory of things.”

“So where are your scrubs?”

Clint grinned.

“I’ve got some - want me to put them on?”

Steve considered it as he started to unbutton his shirt.

Eventually, he shook his head in the negative.

Roleplay, Clint had told him with a smirk that first night as he ran one long finger over Steve’s wrist, could be a hell of a lot of fun in the right circumstances, but that didn’t mean it was perfect for everyone or everything.

And this? This was already enough outside of Steve’s comfort zone that he wasn’t sure he wanted to distance himself from Clint by having him masquerade as some kind of medical professional.

“No,” he said, because Clint was big on Steve vocalizing consent or not-consent.

Clint nodded, unconcerned, and dragged a chair over beside the bed and started to lay out the sound kit on a clean towel, next to a tube of surgical lubricant, a pair of purple surgical gloves, and something that looked like a plastic syringe.

Steve swallowed hard and licked his lips as he looked over the rather extensive set-up.

“Still okay? No reason we have to actually do this - tonight or ever. It can just be something we flirt with, you know,” Clint offered.

Steve shoved his khakis and his briefs down his legs and tossed his shirt aside. He stumbled a little bit getting his socks and shoes off.

“No, I wanna do it,” he insisted.

Clint leaned in close and pressed a kiss to Steve’s lips.

It took him a little off-guard, and he froze for a moment before relaxing into it, into Clint’s warm, strong body and his slightly chapped lips.

“Better?” Clint asked when he gently pulled away from the kiss.

Steve nodded.

A lot better, actually, not that he would say that - not that he even needed to say it, judging by the soft curve of Clint’s mouth. 

Clint was somehow able to read him, better than anyone had since Bucky or Peggy, and while Steve couldn’t say he allowed himself to entirely relax in Clint’s presence, he was, at the very least, able to forget that he should be on alert.

“Good. Go ahead and lie down for me, sweetheart.”

Steve complied, letting Clint guide him into the position he wanted.

Clint remained standing, remained fully-clothed, and he looked over Steve’s naked body as if he could see into his very bones.

“You’re so gorgeous, Steve,” Clint said. “I’m the luckiest guy in the world, and I’m gonna take you apart so good, baby.”

Steve shivered and closed his eyes.

“You’d better,” he said, trying for commanding and falling somewhere much closer to desperate.

Clint laughed.

“Count on it.”

-o-

  
  
****

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, so what IF I WRITE THE ENTIRE thing - from Steve and Clint's first meeting to THROUGH AND PAST THE WINTER SOLDIER AND BUCKY RECOVERING AND STEVE/CLINT/BUCKY.  
HUH??? WHAT IF I JUST DO THAT???
> 
> Sorry. I just. Did not want to get attached? And now I absolutely AM.
> 
> Now beta read by the amazing Ro!!!


End file.
